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Literature Text
Woman
you wear my glance.
We're young and it's dark,
There's fresh bone in your eyes;
What did you kill tonight?
well, I can guess from your cigarette.
But my god,
you hurt like you dance:
with this
slow
n a k e d
throb.
you wear my glance.
We're young and it's dark,
There's fresh bone in your eyes;
What did you kill tonight?
well, I can guess from your cigarette.
But my god,
you hurt like you dance:
with this
slow
n a k e d
throb.
Fucking with magnetic poetry creates ideas.
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